Without a Goodbye
by WanderingChild96
Summary: After the Fall, Mycroft receives a text from his brother- and remembers the event that sparked their "feud."


_Without a Goodbye_

**M**ycroft looked down at the message in his hand. A single text:

_I'm not dead. I'm going to India, under the name of Joseph Sigerson. Send money when convenient._

_SH_

He replied with two words:

_**No goodbye?**_

_**M**_

He waited for what seemed like hours before the phone in his hand beeped to signify a response.

_You've never put much stock in goodbyes, brother._

_SH_

Mycroft closed his eyes with a groan, and remembered…

_"Why can't I come with you?"_

_ Sherlock stood in the doorway, his thin arms crossed over an equally thin chest. Mycroft sighed, but did not look up from the suitcase that he was meticulously packing. They'd been over this topic many times before, and he was in no humor to speak about it again._

_ "I'm smart enough," Sherlock continued petulantly. "A good deal smarter than most of the imbeciles who attend university." Maybe if he kept ignoring Sherlock, his little brother would just go away. Of course, that would not be the case, but Mycroft could dream, couldn't he?_

_ "Mycroft? Are you listening to me?" When his brother made no attempt to reply, Sherlock walked angrily into the room and slammed the suitcase closed. "I am smart enough!" he said again._

_ "And you're also ten years old," returned his brother, an ounce of annoyance creeping into his voice. "Hardly the proper age to attend university."_

_ "I'm not a baby," muttered Sherlock with a frown._

_ "You're acting like one."_

_ Upon seeing the look of hurt that crossed his younger brother's normally stoic face, Mycroft made a quick attempt at remedying the situation. "I didn't mean that."_

_ "If you hadn't meant it," replied Sherlock, "you wouldn't have said it." There was a long pause before he spoke again, his tone sounding almost hopeful. "If I can't come with you, couldn't you just stay here? I mean, until I could go with you?"_

_ Mycroft sighed, and laid his face in his hands. "Sherlock," he said through his fingers, "I am leaving tomorrow, and nothing you say is going to stop me."_

_ Sherlock was quiet again and Mycroft almost believed that he'd given up. But then, in a soft voice that appeared almost sad: "They'll bully me when you go away." Mycroft didn't have to ask who 'they' were. The boys in Sherlock's class weren't exactly accepting of him, and the only thing that had kept them away thus far was the overhanging threat of an elder brother._

_ "Sherlock…" he sighed for what felt like the thousandth time that afternoon. "It's time that you learned how to handle that yourself." _

_ Sherlock left the room in a rush, without another word. That should have been Mycroft's first clue that he'd messed up. Sherlock would outlive God trying to have the last word. _

_ His second clue should have been when; upon to preparing to leave the next day, Sherlock was nowhere to be found. Mycroft glanced at his watch, noting that if he were to arrive at the university in time to check-in to his dorm, he would have to leave within the next half hour. "Mummy," he asked his mother, "where is Sherlock?"_

_ Her brow knitted in worry. "I haven't seen him all morning," she admitted. "I imagine he's just out conducting one of his little experiments."_

_ "Well, I was hoping to say something to him before I left," said Mycroft. "Help me look for him, will you?"_

_ They searched the house from top to bottom, looking in every room- anywhere Sherlock would possibly be. There was no sign of him anywhere. He was playing hide-and-seek with them, Mycroft realized in irritation. Well, if he wanted to behave like a child, he could. Mycroft had to leave and that was that. "Mycroft, you should at least tell him goodbye," Mummy argued, as her son climbed into his car. "We can look for him a while longer."_

_ "I have to go, Mummy," said Mycroft solemnly, leaning out the window to plant a kiss on his mother's cheek. "When Sherlock decides to come out of hiding, just give me a ring."_

_ His third clue should have been when the entire day passed without a phone call from Mummy. He was so busy getting settled into his dorm that he didn't even think about Sherlock. Indeed, it was nearly midnight before he remembered the events of that morning. "What are you thinking about?" asked his roommate, Damien. _

_ "Nothing of importance," Mycroft replied, pushing his brother once more to the back of his mind. _

_**Ring, ring… Ring, ring…**__ "Will you answer your bloody phone?" Damien asked with an angry glare. It was three in the morning, and the two boys had just fallen asleep. Mycroft reached over to the table beside his bed and groped in the dark for his phone._

_ "Hello?" _

_ "Mycroft, dear, I'm sorry to call this early but-." _

_ "Mummy, what's wrong?" Her voice sounded haggard and sad, as if she'd been crying._

_ "I just managed to get your brother to bed. The poor dear-." Mycroft cut her off again._

_ "So he came out? Where was he?"_

_ "Under his bed." Damn. That was such a simple place- the last place on Earth Mycroft would have thought to look for Sherlock. But, of course, Sherlock knew that. "Mycroft, please, let me talk. A few minutes after you left, I found him crying under his bed."_

_ "Crying? What the hell- sorry, Mummy- what was wrong with him?"_

_ "He made no sense for about an hour, but when I finally got him to tell me what was wrong, all he could say was, 'He didn't say goodbye.'" Mycroft's heart dropped into his stomach. "Apparently, he was under the impression that if you couldn't find him, you wouldn't leave." She paused for what seemed like hours, before she spoke again. "He's been very unlike himself all day. Tomorrow, please call him. Talk to him."_

_ "I will, Mummy."_

_ But when he woke up again a few hours later and prepared to attend his first class, Mycroft completely forgot about calling his brother. And when, around lunchtime, his phone began to ring and the caller ID read: __**Sherlock**__, he shook his head and pressed the button labeled: __**ignore.**_

** M**ycroft read the text again, before he sent his reply.

_**I am sorry.**_

_**M**_

He waited, but no answer ever came.

_**Sherlock, are you ignoring me? **_

_**M**_

Once again, no reply arrived. Mycroft frowned, and tried again, desperate for a response.

_**I wish I had just taken you with me.**_

_**M**_

Still, no answer.

_**Sherlock, I am sorry for leaving without a goodbye.**_

_**M**_

He waited. For a moment, it seemed as if there would once again be no reply, but then his phone beeped to indicate a new message.

_I missed you._

_SH_

Mycroft closed his eyes.

_**I know.**_

_**M**_

He waited a second.

_Will you miss me now?_

_SH_

He almost didn't answer- almost thought himself above _missing_ someone. But he would miss Sherlock. He would miss their childish banter; he would miss dropping in at Baker Street. As sad it might be, his brother was probably the closest thing Mycroft had to a friend.

_**Yes**_

_**M**_

A second later, the phone beeped again.

_Goodbye, Mycroft._

_SH_

Mycroft hurriedly typed another message and pressed **send**.

_**Be careful.**_

_**M**_

And then, he sent another message, saying something he hadn't told his brother in years. Honestly, he might _never_ have said it to him.

_**I love you.**_

_**M**_

There was no response. Maybe Mycroft hadn't expected one. He hadn't given Sherlock much reason to care about him, especially not now. It was his fault Sherlock was in his current situation- if anything, his brother probably hated him. He just needed him for money.

Mycroft went to bed, his head full of troubled thoughts. However, he managed to fall asleep after an hour or two. He had no dreams- he never did. And then: **ring, ring… Ring, ring…**

He reached for the phone, and almost ignored it until he remembered that day at the university when he had ignored Sherlock's call. This was a test. He was testing Mycroft to see if that last text had been the truth. Mycroft pressed: **answer.**

"Hello?"

There was no reply on the other end. "Sherlock?"

Finally, his brother's familiar voice came through and said, in a tone that could only be described as timid: "I… love you too."

He hung up, leaving Mycroft to stare down at the phone with an almost amazed expression gracing his face. Perhaps, finally, their feud was over.

Maybe caring was an advantage after all.


End file.
